[DRA] Rip Van (01)

When you laid your head down, finally, to rest after months of being Awake, it was on fluffy pillows. Lady Thrinia, the Blind Knight ally ordered by the Wax King to watch over you, pulled silk sheets over your tired body to cover you, keeping you warm as you slept in a sumptuous four poster bed surrounded by candles. It was the most comfortable you’d felt in years. Maybe ever. Sleep hit you hard, the dam breaking, and your aching body yearning to recuperate, to mend.

After months of fighting Nightmares, after defeating Mother When and shocking the Mad City to its core, after helping the Wax King bring the foundation of the place to its knees, you were able to take a rest.

A short rest. You’d earned it.

Your girlfriend, formerly just your best friend in the whole world, but now more, awaited you in the real world. She told you she’d be counting the minutes until you came back for her. She told you she loved you, Benny. She meant every word.

Waking

The first thing you notice is the smell of the sheets. Bleach. Starch. There’s an antiseptic tinge to the air that you don’t recall. No candlewax.

Echoes. You hear echoes from somewhere in the room, or maybe outside it. The squeak of a tennis shoe on lacquered tile.

The sheets itch. For that matter, your face itches. When you touch it as you slowly rouse, you feel hair. A beard. A full beard. You've never been able to grow a full beard, have you?

Eyes open finally, to daylight streaming in from the outside through safety-glass thick blocks. You’re on a hospital bed of some kind. A metal door to the hall, with a square glass window. Everything is painted an ugly pastel green. The floor is poured concrete. The bed creaks from old springs.

Your muscles take a bit to respond. It’s like they’re not used to, you know, moving anymore. You can sit up, with some effort. You’re nude, except for the bedsheet. The itchy one. There is an IV in your arm. You're hooked up to a machine, with shiny metal discs taped to your chest.

You see an orderly walk by in the hallway, a pair of headphones on as he pushes a cart or something. In the far distance, you hear someone, an old lady’s voice, calling, ”Somebody. Somebody help me! Please! Please somebody help me!” Her voice is hoarse like she’s been yelling for a very long time.

What do you do?

Comments

The old lady's cries cut through a little of the disorientation, but there's no way I'm rushing to the rescue right now. I know from a dozen movies what happens when you take off the electrodes and remove the IV: alarms and nurses and doctors and orderlies. I don't know yet which kind of movie this is, though. Is it the kind where you wake up from a coma in an evil hospital and want to escape, or the kind where you wake up from a coma and Sandra Bullock's in love with your brother Bill Pullman even though she let your family think you were her fiancee all this time?

Screw it. I rip off the electrodes, pull out the IV, and try to get to my feet. First target is the mirror over the sink. Best I ever did was enough fuzz on my lip that Mom kept telling me to wash my face.

The machine starts beeping noisily. The wound in your arm smarts like hell when you pull the needle from the IV. It starts seeping blood. Are you covering it or letting it bleed? Not a huge wound, of course, but it will make a mess.

There's a steel mirror on the opposite wall, no sink or any facilities. This is not a room built to live in, just to sleep and be observed in. Your feet slap on the cool concrete and your muscles protest at your use of them. They feel weak. You've lost some weight, Benny.

Looking back at you in the mirror is someone who looks more like your dad than you. Bushy beard. Thick eyebrows. Unkempt hair, wild and mussed from laying on a pillow. You, or that thing in the steel mirror bolted to the wall, is old. Like, thirties or something. Who knows? Ancient.

The machine continues to beep the same cadence. You think maybe you hear someone coming down the hall. That lady is still yelling for help, her voice cracks in the middle of a bellow. The lights hum.

Well, pretty sure it's not a rom-com, then. So, what are the options? Could be that I've somehow been mind-swapped into the body of someone older who just happens to resemble me a little. Or... I took a longer nap than I planned to. Much longer.

That thing Eileen says she shaves with... umm, Occam's Razor? Even with everything I've seen, I think the simplest explanation here is that I've been out for years.

Did I say "oh, crap"?

I'll wait a minute to see if anyone shows up, just leaning here up against the wall. Casual-like. If no one shows, I'll make my way to the door.

He comes to the door quickly, looking towards the bed and floor before he swings his gaze over to you on his right side. He jumps, "Shit! You scared me, man!" He stops short, holds his hands out, "Hey, buddy. My name's Lance. Do you, uhhhh, speak English?"

My throat is dry, my mouth is gummy, and my tongue feels fat and alien, but I get out, "Yep." I was going to add some quip about going to public school, so he shouldn't expect too much, but the extra words seem like too much effort right now. I do manage one more, though. "Benny."

He puts his hands on your shoulders like he thinks you're going to wobble, "Benny, we need to get you back to bed, buddy." He starts guiding you towards the bed, turning to walk beside you. He's strong, and not bashful about putting hands on you. "I thought you were a fricking vegetable, buddy. You've been out for as long as I've worked here."

The bed creaks when you sit down on it. He quickly moves to adjust the machine and it stops beeping. The woman's yelling has dulled, she's repeating "Somebody help me. Somebody help me." like a mantra. The lights humming is ever-present.

Lance makes a face, then covers it with a genteel smile, one he wears for patients, "I don't know, buddy. But we can find her her, alright. Just stay calm, this is a big shock, right? Who's Eileen?" He isn't taking notes, might be humoring you.

"Camarillo State Hospital," Lance answers. You seem calm, so he leaves you on the bed, doesn't push you down or anything. "I've worked here, ahhh, seven months. You've always been here, buddy. Listen, Doctor Shale has been here the longest. I'll ask him to talk to you. Annnd, I'll look up your record. Okay? Can I trust you to stay cool while I get you some water, maybe something to snack on?" His body is pointed towards the door, but he's waiting to see.

After a few moments, the door opens and a doctor comes in. He looks at you curiously. This is the guy:"Lance said your name is Benny, is that right?" He comes over to the bedside, offers a hand, "I'm Doctor Ferrell." He starts checking your vitals an giving you a quick checkup.

I don't pull away, but I don't exactly cooperate. "Benny Marks. How long have I been here? What's up? I can give you phone numbers for my girlfriend, and my parents... no, not my parents, that was always on speed dial. I need to know what's going on, Doctor Ferrell. What year is it?" I think back to the plaintive pleas I heard earlier. "And is this a mental hospital? And where?"

Calm and prepared, Dr. Ferrell answers, "You are in a psychiatric ward, Mr. Marks. You were checked in as a John Doe thirteen months ago, a ward of the state. It's twenty twenty four. You're just outside of LA." He pauses, then asks, "What's the last thing you remember?"

I look at him. The calm smile and the crinkle of his cheeks don't match the eyes, somehow. "Thirteen months? Who brought me in? Was I conscious?" Where was Thrinia? Twenty twenty four? Screw me. It slips out again. "Eileen..."

Dr. Ferrell's calm demeanor continues as he explains, "Dr. Shale checked you in. Ernie works nights, I'll have him come in to see you." He pats your leg, "Don't you worry. Give me that number and I'll call your girlfriend. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear you're alive. You know," He pauses like he just thought of something odd, "You might have been declared dead. Wouldn't that be interesting? I heard a story about a man who was declared dead, had a helluva time proving his alive-ness."

The doctor stands, the glare of the lights behind his head like some halo. "Well, Benny, we need to start the paperwork, and do a full eval. I'm sure we'll get this sorted right away." He turns off the monitoring equipment, then starts to head for the door.

Dr. Ferrell peers at you, his smile dropping a bit, "Benny, I'm trying to keep you from freaking out. Isn't this... isn't this what you'd want? A calm presence trying to help you? Do you want me to alert the media? Is that what you want after what is probably a pretty crazy day? I think not. Right?"

The door opens, Lance comes in, just a step, watching. He seems calm, too. Is he backup, or something?

I keep my voice steady. "The last thing I remember was visiting my girlfriend's family's lake house. In 2014. I'm not freaking out, doctor, but I'm sure you can understand that I'd really like to figure out what's happened since then. Sorry if I alarmed you."

"Sure, buddy. Sure." Lance says with a nod, but his eyes are on Dr. Ferrell.

"I'm glad to hear that, Benny." Dr. Ferrell says. "I bet you're hungry, right?" His tone is syrupy. "If you'd like, I'll go get you something to munch on while we make some calls." He takes down Eileen's number, if you give it.

I'd be happy to take off running right now, just run until I can't run anymore, but my legs are weak and my joints are stiff. I decide to play along a while longer, figure out what's what. So I do give Dr. Ferrell Eileen's cell number, although after ten years, what's the chance that she's still got the same digits?

They leave, leaving you alone with the hum, and the nothing. After what feels like half an hour, Dr. Ferrell brings you some warmed-up soup, a chowder, with some crackers and a cheese stick. He apologizes that it's all they had this afternoon, but promises a good supper in a couple hours. He also hands you a small stack of Time magazines, probably from a waiting room or something, then leaves for rounds.

I eat the chowder down quickly. It's not anything you'd call good, but the warm liquid soothes my dry throat and mouth, wakes up muscles that haven't been used in a long time. After that, I flip through a few random issues of time while nibbling on the cheese stick. Apparently Chelsea Clinton is president now, which is interesting. The last high-throughput cell data towers in the Andes and Africa are scheduled to go on line in the next few months, meaning that all those Silicon Valley dreamers may actually achieve "global connectivity." Another big hurricane traumatized the Gulf Coast and devastated Galveston.

And... the CDC has sent advisors to work with the WHO on an outbreak of an unidentified disease they speculate is a heretofore unknown sort of encephalitis that has left three entire villages in Tanzania apparently asleep, muttering nonsense. We have yet to isolate the cause or the vector of this syndrome, but are hopeful of making a breakthrough soon.

After a little light reading, I ponder that locked door. It makes me uncomfortable, trapped in here. I look at it with intent, picturing it ajar, seeing the slice of wall I should be able to see through the opening, focusing my whole will on visualizing. Once it's clear in my mind, I stand and walk toward the door slowly, keeping my focus. I reach for the edge of the door to pull it toward me...

Near the mirror (but not showing a reflection), you see a woman phase into view. She's mostly there, somewhat see-through. It's the Blind Knight who the Wax King had watching over you as you napped. Ten years ago.

She's wearing the black leather jacket you remember, the same jeans and heavy black boots. She has no weapons, which is different.

Lady Thrinia:She crosses her arms, looking down at you as you sit on your bed, "You're a very heavy sleeper."

I blow out a breath. "Maybe I am. Fill me in, Thrinia? It's been something like ten years on this side, and I've been in this antiseptic hole for thirteen months of that." I give her a pleading glance. "What's up?"

"I brought you to this hole, because they were trying to kill you." Thrinia says defensively. She gestures at herself, "Got myself iced in the deal. Took me five months to be able to do this much. Anyways, you're welcome."

I hold up a hand. "I'm sorry if that came out like criticism, Lady Thrinia. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. It's just, can you fill me in a little bit? Who was trying to kill me? Is there anything I need to know?"

Lady Thrinia relaxes a bit, leans back against the wall, "When you disappeared, Benny, there was a long stalemate. Officer Tock, the Tacks Man, even the Most Puissant Black Wind, they all knew you weren't dead, and they were waiting for some new attack. Finally, the new Mother When whipped them up into a frenzy, and they overran the Wax King's citadel. He sent me away since we couldn't wake you. I took you all over the Mad City, but in the end, the only place I could find to hide you was..." She looks around the place, "This antiseptic hole."

I nod. "Thank you as always, Lady Thrinia, for watching over me. Is the Wax King well?" I know it's a long shot, but I have to ask. "I don't suppose you know anything about Eileen or my family?" I really need to start working on getting out of here. I know I've only been awake for an hour or so, but I need to take action. Clothes, shoes... so much to figure out.

After Lance works at the noisy lock and enters, he walks right up to you, no notice of Lady Thrinia. He looks at you with puzzlement, "Hey buddy, how was supper? And uh, were you... talking to someone?"

I give Lance a smile, summoned up from somewhere. "Just myself. I've done that since I was a kid... helps work things out if I hear my voice. Hey, I have to ask. How was the new Star Wars trilogy? J. J. Abrams didn't ruin it with lens flares or Gungans, did he?"

Lady Thrinia huffs annoyance, but you can tell she has no idea what you're talking about with this "Star Wars". She probably knew a JJ, though.

"I think it did pretty well," Lance says without much emotion. "I'm not much of a movie guy, buddy. Hey, I called that number, the one for your girlfriend? The guy who answered it was named Harold, didn't know an Eileen. Said he'd had the number for about four years."

"So, hey, buddy... I see from Time magazine that the Internet's still up and running. Did anyone look me up? I understand that you're trying to keep me calm, but it seems like the interest level in a John Doe waking up and identifying himself is pretty low. Is it because I don't have insurance?"

Lance shakes his head ruefully, "Oh buddy, you're a big deal around the whole hospital, but I'm just a cog in the wheel, man. Administration's aware that you woke up. Miss Abersham will come by to see you after five when she can pull herself away, you know? It's a big deal, but this place... well, there's lawyers and all that. You know?"

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. "Have you ever read Kafka, Lance?" I know the answer, I think, and wave my hand. "I don't have shoes. I don't have a bathroom, and you lock the door every time you leave. My ass is hanging out of this gown. Tell Ernie he missed a chance at a mind-blowing research opportunity."

I reach for Thrinia's hand, which must be puzzling to the orderly, and blow him a kiss. I know I didn't manage the thing with the door earlier, but between the two of us, I should be able to make it to the Mad City... it's probably hungry for me.

After a few minutes of walking along echoing, empty cobblestone streets still lit by gaslight, you come upon the molten wreckage that was the Wax King Citadel. What once sprawled underground and spilled above the street in imaginative and wondrous spires and gates, is now just puddles of hardened wax in turgid pools, with rivulets that once ran through cracks and grooves in the cobblestone.

With a resigned tone, Lady Thrinia looks over what was once her banner and her people, "As I feared. The Wax King is no more. I am the last of the Blind Knights, and... I am no more."

This sight hurts me almost physically. I have no reason to love the Mad City, of course, but this was the one place of safety, the one place where I wasn't hunted, where I didn't have to hide. I turn to put a hand on Thrinia's shoulder and look into her flickering eyes. "You are no more, Lady Thrinia? What do you mean?"

When you touch her shoulder, it slumps slightly. She continues looking at the ruins of her home, "I failed to find my boyfriend, the whole reason I wandered into this damned place. Failed to protect Wax King, the man who saved my life. Couldn't do much to protect you, either. And, news flash, I'm dead."

Thrinia looks over at you, anger crossing her face before she pushes it aside, "I couldn't get you across when I was alive, Benny. I defended you to my dying breath, as I swore. Cut down a dozen warriors, more or less, I don't know. Then, when I was dying, somehow, I could pull you through. To the real world. That's how I got you out."

"I can touch you. I could, even in the real world, when I tried. You're not a ghost, are you?" I stop myself. "And, I should have said this first, thank you, Thrinia. For your valor and your sacrifice. I'm honored."

"Yeah, you can." She admits. "But you saw that orderly, right? He'd pass right through me. Trust me, from previous experience, I know." She steps quickly to kick the waxen head on the ground, which cracks and shatters into tiny pieces. After that fit, she bends down, on hr haunches, looking at it. "They're not here, Benny. The Nightmares we couldn't destroy. Mad City is empty."

I shudder. There really is only one place the Nightmares could have gone, isn't there? I can't linger here, but I need to see if I can scrounge up a few things. Clothes. Shoes. "The Wax King would be proud of you, Thrinia. What will you do now? I understand that you're dead, but you're still here, right?"

You find a clothing shop called Manchester House just down the block. It's filled with gentleman's clothing, from the Victorian era. You find shoes that fit you, several sets of clothing.

"I..." Thrinia stammers, "I've been focused on you. I came up with so many ideas, a long time ago. It's just... a jumble. It's better than oblivion, I guess." She seems to be perfectly find watching you get dressed. Are you?

I've been walking around with my butt hanging out of this hospital gown... I turn my back while I'm putting on what Dickens would have called "smallclothes", but once my junk is safely under wraps, I don't much care. I do my best to find outfits that will come closest to fitting in, on the other side, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to look like some parody goth hipster poser, especially as skinny as I am now. And this beard. I am not exactly pretty at the moment.

It's good to be wearing shoes again, and they're pretty classy, even if they're not as comfortable as they could be.

"I'd love for you to stick with me for a while, Thrinia. I'm pretty sure the other side's going to be a bumpy ride, and it would be nice to have someone that understands things."

You catch her watching at one point, but she looks away when you do. As you're finishing with your shoes, she answers, "I am not much of a guide, Benny. I spent my time watching over you, not learning about the rest of the world. I found that I cannot venture far from you."

I smile. "Thrinia, I spent my entire life with the Internet. Unless the world has changed a lot more than I think it has, I'll be able to navigate once I find some means to connect. I'll find Eileen, and my family." I wonder if they're still... off. "I'm more worried that all the Nightmares that should still be here might be there, and you'll be the only one that could help me figure that stuff out. I may have helped start a war here, but I really only scratched the surface, as far as learning about the... inhabitants."

Thrinia moves across the small shop, picking out a few hats, along with a parisol, "I do believe they are in the real world. If you mean to do battle, then I'm honor-bound to accompany you." She turns around and dons a small hat with some lace that covers one eye. In seconds, the lace begins to smolder, and she's forced to throw the hat on the ground and stomp on it. It seems to disappoint her greatly.

I hide my smile as well as I can. "Thrinia, I'm almost afraid to say this. It's the Mad City, after all, and I've never really learned what the rules are. If I say that you've done your duty, and I want you to come with me because I trust you and need your help, not because you've sworn an oath to someone who..." I clear my throat, the reality hitting. "...someone who you served bravely and well, but who is no longer here, will you just poof out?" I hold up a hand. "Bianca got her own will to defy Mother When because I gave her a name. I'm just careful about what I say..."

Lady Thrinia says with complete seriousness, fixing your eyes with her own fiery orbs, "If you release me from service, Benny Marks, I will be no more. You are my sole tether. All other things, I have lost... or given away."

"Then, Lady Thrinia, I reaffirm your bond to my service, since your higher master cannot. I'll do what I can to make your... life... time... interesting and valuable, and on the day that you ask me to release you, I will do so." I ponder that for a sec. "Uhm, I'd appreciate it if you gave me two weeks' notice, of course." I give her an embarrassed smile at that last bit.

I wonder if the bells signal some sort of acceptance of her oath, from whatever constitutes the Powers that Be behind the powers that used to run the Mad City. Regardless, we shouldn't be hearing them. The tower is gone, the clock is gone. What bells are ringing? I follow her to the street.

The eighth chime rings when you reach the street. It is still abandoned. Lady Thrinia heads towards District 13. I assume you follow? As the ninth and tenth bell chimes, you both start running, past the taverns, the seamstress shop, the vintners, all vacant. No shutters drawn, no sign of the battles that wrecked them a decade ago.

The thirteenth chime rings and none follow. The tone stretches on longer than any of the previous twelve. In the remains of what was the precinct of Officer Tock, something shimmers into view.

"The... Bizarre Bazaar?" Thrinia says with a hint of wonder. "It shut down during the war." You see tents and small shacks, narrow passages and people. Well, mostly people. Mad City people.

I feel opposite tugs. Back to the real world before more random time passes, or gather information here, while it lasts? Strangely, the waking world is more fraught right now... I grab Thrinia's hand again and pull her into the fray. I'm looking for anything that might be useful, but also for someone that can tell us what's happened recently.

As you move through the sudden crowd and past stalls, thick aromas of freshly cooked wishes and cotton candy hopes fill the air. Hawkers try to get you to come over to their stall, or to look at their table. This one thing, the Bazaar, it is still here. You even catch a medium, complete with crystal ball. A lanky man in a huge overcoat made with wriggling furs.

I meet her eyes with all the accumulated wisdom of seventeen years, plus the months of negotiating with Nightmares and the other denizens of this city. "I have a question first, and then, if you can answer that, a request that really requires your skills. What has happened here recently, that the Mad City is empty of its denizens except when the Bizarre pops up?"

She lowers her chin, then looks up at you, an arched brow, "A history lesson? Child's play, Benjamin. I can tell you what you want to know, but... momma don't work for free." She eases back from the crystal ball and holds out a hand.

With a dramatic sigh, she says, "The bazaar has just opened and I must deal with this?" She looks past you, "Is he worth this disrespect, Thri?"

Without hesitation, Thrinia replies, "He's my liege. Answer his questions and he will pay well. Or refuse, and I will make you answer his questions." Her tone is harsh.

"Never have I worked for so little.""Hell is empty, Benjamin. All the devils have gone to feast in your world. The Nightmares have fled the Mad City to feast upon ignorant sheep, and their ilk followed. The Bazaar remains because it has always been."